Toronto is locked in a cold snap, and the city has gone quiet in that particular winter way — the kind that makes “going out to shoot” feel like a negotiation.
So I did what I’ve been trying to do more of lately.
I didn’t negotiate.
I kept the work moving by dragging the street inside.
Not by changing my style to fit the room, but by doing the opposite: bringing my one true constraint with me.
The 28mm field of view.
If you’ve read my thoughts on the discipline of presence, you already know this isn’t a lens choice for me — it’s an identity choice.
The constraint stays the same, even when the location changes
Every one of these self-portraits was shot with my GFX100RF — fixed 35mm lens, with my preferred 28mm field of view.
That matters.
Because I’m not trying to become a “home studio” guy. I’m trying to become the same photographer in every environment.
- Same distance decisions.
- Same framing instincts.
- Same relationship to the edge of the frame.
- Same willingness to get close.
That’s the whole point of the 28mm discipline. It doesn’t just change what you see — it changes how you behave.
Even indoors.
The kit is just the delivery system
My lighting kit is simple and portable:
- Godox IT32 flash
- diffuser / small softbox
- tripod for the flash
- tripod for the camera (indoors only)
- trigger cable (indoors only)
- two 2m backdrops (white side + black side), that I can use the white side as a light reflector if need be.
But the kit isn’t the story.
The story is: I’m training one way of seeing until it becomes automatic.
If the 28mm field of view is how I want to meet strangers on the street, then it’s also how I need to meet myself in the living room.
Indoors is where I can rehearse the “presence” part
On the street, 28mm forces you to commit. It forces you to be close enough that the frame feels like a conversation.
At home, it does something similar — just quieter.
The 28mm field of view doesn’t let me hide behind flattering distance. It doesn’t let me pretend the photograph is about lighting or technique.
It makes it about presence.
And that’s a useful kind of discomfort.
These frames are less about me and more about proof
Six portraits, one constraint: the 28mm field of view.
Not to show variety — but to show repeatability.
Frame 1: quiet gravity, close enough to feel real
This frame is the simplest version of what I’m chasing: a direct, unadorned presence. No cleverness. No escape hatch.
It’s what I want my street portraits to feel like — an honest encounter.
Frame 2: the street portrait crop, practiced at home
This one feels like the most direct rehearsal for strangers. It’s a “street portrait framing” done indoors—not because I want to copy the street, but because I want the distance to feel second nature.
That’s the discipline: get close enough that the photograph becomes a meeting, not a capture.
Frame 3: profile as a test of edge, shape, and separation
A profile isn’t about expression as much as it’s about shape. It’s about how cleanly I can separate a face from darkness.
When I’m outside again, this is the part I want to carry with me: the ability to control the frame even when I can’t control the environment.
Frame 4: the shadow line as a deliberate choice
This is where the 28mm discipline becomes style, not just composition.
The moment I start thinking, “Where do I want the shadow to land?” I’m no longer just taking a picture. I’m building a look.
(And yes — the black reflector is a weapon here.)
Frame 5: negative space as part of the signature
This is the frame that reminds me that style is not just light. It’s also the willingness to leave space. To let a photograph breathe. To stop filling every corner just because the lens can see it.
Frame 6: the setup shot, because it proves this is a practice, not a mood
I like ending with the behind-the-scenes because it keeps me honest: none of this is magic. It’s repetition.
And repetition is the whole game.
When I go back outside, the constraint stays — the support changes
Outdoors, I’m not carrying the second tripod. No self-portraits. No controlled room.
But the 28mm field of view stays.
The flash stays.
And I’m seriously considering putting the flash on a monopod so I can hold it off-axis where I want it and shoot with the camera in the other hand — a street-ready version of what I’m practicing here.
Because the goal isn’t to be good at “studio portraits.”
The goal is to be good at portraits — wherever they happen.
Winter isn’t stopping the work. It’s sharpening the identity.
If the 28mm discipline is my photographic identity, then winter is just a different training ground for the same thing:
- Presence.
- Closeness.
- Decision-making.
- Repeatability.
When the sidewalks thaw, and I’m face-to-face with a stranger again, I don’t want to be “figuring it out.”
I want to be doing what I’ve already done a hundred times — with the same field of view, the same intent, and the same commitment to getting close enough to mean it.